


Wake Up & Smell the Amortentia

by longclawislightbringer (Bespectacled_Geek)



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Amortentia, Clueless Jon, Dany the Matchmaker, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts AU, Implied Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon is a Hufflepuff, Lyanna is not a Stark but a close family friend, Pining Sansa, Sansa is Gryffindor, robb the matchmaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bespectacled_Geek/pseuds/longclawislightbringer
Summary: On her first day of Sixth Year Potions, Sansa Stark smells something very distinct in Professor Aemon's Amortentia and tries to figure out what it means.AKA the Hogwarts AU that was only supposed to be a drabble but is now in four parts.Whoops.





	1. Pine Needles & Bergamot Oil

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Hogwarts AU ? 
> 
> Due to my inability to write short fics, this took much longer than intended. Was originally a one shot, but now has three parts. I plan to release one chapter a week for the next three weeks. Bug me if I don't deliver. This will likely be the last prompt I answer for a long while because the muse gave me a multi-chapter idea and it won't go away. 
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful sansapotter on Tumblr & AO3 for looking this over for me! 
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you feel so inclined; I love hearing from you all.

Sansa's hair, a curtain of Tully red, draped around one side of the bubbling cauldron as she bent over the desk. The mother-of-pearl potion shimmered, sending up swirls of silvery steam. Sansa took a deep breath, trying to still her beating heart that threatened to break free of her chest with every thunk-thunk.  

At first, Sansa only smelled the mildew that clung to the dank walls of the dungeon, but soon another scent prevailed. Sansa closed her eyes, inhaling comforting Winterfell pine needles. She almost heard her siblings' raucous laughter and the crunch of fresh snow underfoot as they tumbled to the ground on the last snow day last winter. Arya had thrown the first snowball that day, and Sansa joined in the all-out-war despite promising her mother that she wouldn't get her new coat dirty. It wasn't her fault that Jon Snow hit her square in the back as she walked away.

Sansa opened her eyes as the scents shifted again. She wrinkled her nose as the pungent odor of sweat mixed with grass and broom wax wafted up from the warm cauldron. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. If she smelled the sickly-sweet sugarplums that Joffrey was always eating next, never mind the line behind her, she'd hurl the steaming cauldron against the stone dungeon wall. 

She wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. It probably meant nothing; Harry Hardyng and a number of others at Hogwarts also played Quidditch. Heck, whoever she smelt in the Amortentia might have already graduated from Hogwarts; Loras Tyrell played for the Highgarden Harpies.

The potion shimmered again. Sansa pursed her brows as she inhaled the third scent. It smelled clean, and fresh, and oh so familiar with a hint of bergamot. She sighed, relieved the cauldron hadn't given her sugarplums.

"Miss Stark, if you're quite finished, there are some other students behind you and I do need to get ready for my next class," Professor Aemon whispered. 

 Sansa jumped back from the cauldron, rubbing the back of her neck. 

"Sorry, professor," Sansa apologized, sprinting to her desk past the line of students still waiting to turn in their vials of living death. She caught Joffrey's cocky smirk as she snatched her textbook off the desk. Bristling, she glared at him before bolting out the door. 

"Slow down, Sansa!" Her best friend Margaery snatched her arm, pulling her into a small off shooting hallway where no one would disturb them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost," Sansa scoffed. "Just my lousy ex-boyfriend assuming I smelled him in the Amortentia. The nerve of some people," she muttered.

"Nevermind that; what did you smell?" Margaery tugged her arm. 

 "You go first." Sansa blushed.  

"It doesn't matter what I smelled." Margaery huffed, dropping Sansa's arm. "You know my grandmother wants me to pursue Joffrey because ‘the Baratheon and Lannister lines are so well established and we Tyrells need to raise our profile.’ Yuck,” she shivered.

 “Marge, that’s terrible.” Sansa put a comforting hand on top of hers.

"I know," Margaery scoffed. "But I'll live through it. So, tell me," she lowered her voice and glanced up and down the hall before whispering, "do you have any ideas about what you smelled?"

"It smelled like the Quidditch pitch after a big game. There was something familiar about it—I’d probably know it if I smelled it again." 

 "You're so lucky! That means it can only be one person, like how Professor Lannister smelled the sea before he even met Coach Tarth." 

“But what can I do?” Sansa opened her bag to put her potions textbook away. “It’s not like I can go around sniffing all the Quidditch players at Hogwarts.” 

Margaery clapped her hands together, tapping the pads of her fingers, and raised a quizzical brow. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

* * *

“You’ll be fine!” Margaery shoved Sansa into the hallway outside the locker rooms.

Sansa almost ran into the wall but caught herself at the last second. Catching her breath, she stood for a moment, hand against the smooth stone. When she heard the distinctive whoosh of something sailing through the air, she whipped around, only to get knocked to the ground by her own heavy bag. Her wand clattered to the ground; some of her books dropped from the open bag with a thunk. She glared at Margaery who gave her two thumbs up in return before dashing down the corridor to her next class. Sansa stuck out her tongue as Margaery retreated. Sometimes having a Slytherin best friend meant the cons outweighed the perks.

Sansa sighed. Though long gone, Margaery would expect a full report on "Sansa's Quest for True Love." Gathering her scattered things, she dropped them into the cloth sack and snapped the top closed. She stood, searching for her missing wand before noticing it had rolled in front of the boys' locker room. Sansa rolled her eyes. Stupid Margaery.

She snatched the offending wand off the ground. Stuffing it into the pocket in her robes, Sansa took a step back from the locker room door toward the weird muggle painting Headmaster Mormont had installed there last year. She wrung her hands and rocked back and forth on her heels as she glanced up and down the hallway. If she left now, she wouldn’t run into any Quidditch players, as the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw practices had just let out, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin players (including Harry Hardyng) were due in about seven minutes.

She paced the stone floor.

Perhaps she should just leave, and no one would be the wiser. She turned to walk away.

However, she could use her brother or sister as an alibi—make up some excuse about needing to see them before Gryffindor practice started.

Clenching her fists, she let out a deep breath. Adjusting her red and gold tie, she turned her attention back to the muggle painting while she waited. Tiny splotches of pale gray dappled the white canvas. She stepped closer. Not tiny splotches, but rather large lumps of white paint spread across the canvas in violent swaths. When Sansa squinted, the paint swirled, almost like the snowflakes in a blizzard.

“Hey Sansa,” Harry Hardyng whispered in her ear out of nowhere. “Waiting for your siblings?” Sansa shrieked and whirled around, elbowing Harry in the gut.

“I’m so sorry!” Sansa peeped as Harry doubled over. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Harry choked out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

"I was just distracted looking at the painting." Sansa gestured to it, blushing, and twirled a strand of hair between her fingers.

“Oh.” Harry wrinkled his aquiline nose. “I don’t much care for muggle art. Don’t know why Mormont put it here.” While he talked, she leaned closer. His sandy hair smelled of lemon shampoo. 

Harry turned away from the painting. “I’ve got to get ready for practice. See you around, milady.” He bowed with a flourish.

Sansa giggled. “Have a great practice.”

“You’ll be at the game on Saturday?”

"Of course," Sansa smiled.

"Great. See you there," Harry winked and swiveled through the door behind him.

As the door swooshed closed, Sansa caught a faint whiff of that familiar bergamot scent. Startled, she jumped from her perch on the wooden bench across from the painting. Heart pounding, she tiptoed toward the door. There it was again, fainter still. The handle felt warm in her hand as she leaned in. The muffled pitter-patter of water droplets on the tile floor came through the door. With the loud screech of the turning spigot, the water stopped.

Sansa froze.

Her mystery man would walk out that door any minute now and find her there.

She jumped away from the door, sprinting to her scattered belongings on the bench between the locker room doors. With reckless abandon, she flung her potions textbook into her bag, not even bothering to make sure each book settled in its proper place. She sniffed. The bergamot fragrance grew stronger. Footsteps pounded across the tile floor through the thick wooden door, closer and closer. Sansa slung her backpack over one shoulder as the doorknob turned. Without a second thought, Sansa hauled ass down the hallway.

“Sansa?”

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks.

She knew that voice.

Taking a deep breath, she turned.

"Hello Jon," Sansa stuttered, faking a smile.

He walked right up to her, grinning that stupid grin that made all the silly girls in her class melt like chocolate frogs left in the sun on a hot summers day.

“Are you waiting for Arya?” Jon asked. The bergamot wafted over from his dripping dark brown curls.

"Yes." She hazarded a bigger sniff, leaning closer. "Your hair smells."

He gave her a quizzical look.

“I mean it smells nice.”

His face lit up like the candles in the Great Hall at Halloween. “I have you to thank for that.” He clapped her on the shoulder. Sansa stilled at the sudden contact. “I’ve already had to replace that bottle of conditioner you bought me for Christmas.” Sansa wanted to slap herself, but at the same time wished he would pull her even closer so all she smelled was bergamot and mint leaves.

"I'm glad you liked it, of course, because you really needed to condition your hair." She took a tentative step forward. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. Her breath caught in her throat; maybe those silly girls had a point.

“Are you alright?” Jon frowned. “You look like there’s something on your mind?”

Sansa closed her eyes, steeling herself for what she had to do. “Jon, I need to tell you . . .”

"Hey, crow."

Before Sansa could speak another word, Ygritte barreled down the hall. Sansa stepped back as Ygritte sailed in between them, jumping into Jon's arms. Ygritte wove her arms around Jon's neck, tangling her fingers in his hair as she pulled him down for a long sloppy kiss. Sansa's stomach dropped three stories. Gripping the canvas strap of her messenger bag too tight left angry red indentations on her skin. Jon & Ygritte separated at long last, still in each other's arms.

"Hey, wildling." Jon greeted his girlfriend with hazy eyes. Ygritte settled into the crook of his arm, giggling.

How many bones would she break if she punched the wall?

"What did you want to say, Sansa?" Jon turned from Ygritte.

"Never mind," Sansa muttered, bile rising in her throat. The Seven couldn't be so cruel as to show her the truth before snatching him away, could they?

“Are you okay?” Jon asked her, letting go of his girlfriend for a moment.

“I’m fine,” Sansa huffed, looking at an interesting spot on the wall, avoiding Ygritte’s “get lost” glare. If she stayed long enough Ygritte would find some way to insult her; she always did.

“Really?” Ygritte cackled, clutching her stomach. “ ’cause you look as pale as Ghost.” There it was.

“Don't make fun of her,” Jon scolded his girlfriend. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"I said I'm fine," Sansa spat through gritted teeth. "Goodbye, Jon." She swiveled on her heels, hair swinging, and strode down the corridor with an air of confidence she didn't possess.

“Sansa, wait!” Jon called after her. “What about Arya?”

“I’ll talk to her later.” Sansa tried to keep her voice steady even as a tear spilled down her face.

“Oh, let her go,” Ygritte groaned. “She’s fine.”

Sansa rounded the corner and wiped the tear away.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she banged her head against the wall. Maybe she'd smelled something wrong?She stepped back, playing with the sleeve of her robe for a few moments of indecision before heading toward the potions storeroom; it'd take a while, but knowing for certain would quiet her rapidly beating heart.


	2. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Ygritte fight about Sansa in the library; Jon remembers the day Sansa became his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I've been working six day work weeks and then I decided to add a flashback right as I had finished the rest of the chapter so . . . 
> 
> Thanks once again to my wonderful beta sansapotter, without whom this would have taken even longer to get to you. 
> 
> Drop me a comment to let me know what you think!

_In 1290, Azor Ahai, First of Men defeated the necromancer who called himself the Night’s King with an enchanted blade of Valyrian Steel. The Wizards of Winterfell assisted by the Children of the Forest . . ._ Jon blinked as the words swirled together under the candlelight of the library. Stifling a yawn, he read the same passage over. The second run-through did not bring him any new understanding.

“Why did I do this to myself?” Jon moaned, resting his head against the crinkling pages.

“You got yourself into this mess,” Robb clapped him on the back, “now get yourself out.” Jon groaned and slammed his History of Magic textbook closed with a huff. Robb and all his siblings, save the conspicuously absent Sansa, chuckled. Rickon laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.

“Your family is the worst, you know that?” Jon sighed, glancing up as the library door creaked open. Giggling, Sansa stepped inside, followed by her friends Margaery, Beth, and Jeyne Poole. She stopped short when she noticed him sitting next to her brothers and sisters, and clutched her books tighter to her chest. Her face turned red as a tomato when she frowned. She mumbled something to her friends before zipping out of the library like her short skirt had caught fire. Jon’s smile fell.

“Why does Sansa hate me again?” Jon turned to his best friend.

“That’s ridiculous,” Robb guffawed, dipping his quill into his enchanted inkwell at the center of the table; “Sansa never hated you and you know it.”

“She hasn’t spoken more than three words to me in the past three weeks, and she’s been avoiding me whenever I try to ask her what’s wrong.” Jon explained, “She literally just ran out when she saw me two seconds ago.”

“I can tell you for certain that Sansa does not hate you,” Bran interjected from behind his Divination textbook on the other side of the table.

“Then why is she acting so weird?” Jon asked.

“She’s just got something on her mind, is all,” Bran smirked. Jon would have jumped across the table to beat the information out of his smug face if Arya hadn’t interrupted.

“Oh, who cares about what Sansy-pants thinks? I’ve got Arithmancy equations to learn and you all are not helping,” Arya shouted from behind her fortress of textbooks as her quill scratched across the parchment.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Ygritte asked as she sidled up to the table, holding a stack of books that reached past the top of her head. Jon started at her sudden appearrance. Sometimes he forgot how quiet she could be. Jon gave her a kiss on the cheek as she pulled out the chair beside him, dumping her junk on the table.

“Jon thinks that Sansa hates him again,” Rickon declared, reaching for the inkwell. “Robb, can you pass me the ink?” Robb flicked his wand and sent it sliding across the table. “Thanks.”

“She’s probably just got a stick up her arse because whatever prissy boy she fancies won’t give her the time of day,” Ygritte snarked, pulling out a sheaf of parchment. The Starks around the table stilled. Robb clenched his fist on Jon’s other side. “They don’t call her the Ice Queen for nothing.” She licked her quill and dipped it into Robb’s enchanted inkwell, focused on her work.

“You know Sansa’s not like that,” Jon chastised Ygritte, trying to diffuse the situation before it got worse. Arya looked like she would hex Ygritte in a heartbeat. “I’m sure I just did something wrong.”

Ygritte slammed her textbook shut with a grimace. “Why do you care what she thinks? Sansa’s not your girlfriend; I am.”

“I know, but—”

“—But nothing! You shouldn’t even care! Sansa Stark is an insipid, whining, social-climbing kneeler brat who didn’t give a rat’s ass about you until she found out your father is the Minister of Magic!” Arya dropped her wand and went to punch Jon’s girlfriend in the face. Robb shared a look with Jon before holding her back

“Enough!” Jon roared at his girlfriend. “Sansa’s my friend and she’s their sister. What is your problem?”

“My problem?” Ygritte howled. “I saw the way you looked at her in the locker room hallway, that goofy smile on your face. How do you think it felt to realize that your boyfriend only liked you because you looked like the girl he could never have?” She shouted, her face flushed with color. Jon swore he could have heard a pin drop as dozens of quills stopped scratching at the same time.

Jon blinked. She panted for a moment before her quill broke in half with a snap. As the ink spilled across her hand, her eyes widened and the color drained from her face.

“We’re just going to leave…” Bran broke the silence as Rickon gathered up their things. Arya dropped her fist and shook free of Robb’s hold. “Come on, Arya.”

“Let me at her! I’ll teach her to talk bad about our sister.” Arya yelled, grabbing her wand from the floor. Robb gave her a pointed look. “Fine,” Arya huffed, taking her sweet time drying the ink on her parchment before rolling it up and following her brothers out of the library. Jon cleared his throat, handing Ygritte his handkerchief to wipe up the spilled ink.

“Is that really what you think?” Jon’s words tumbled out slow and unsure.

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Ygritte grumbled as she rubbed a stubborn ink stain on her thumb. “Why won’t this stupid stain come out!” She tossed the soiled handkerchief on the table and put her head in her hands.

Jon sighed. “Ygritte, Sansa & I are just friends. Yes, we started hanging out after she found out my parentage, but she really helped me get through a difficult period when you and a lot of my other friends weren’t particularly helpful.” He remembered that chilly winter day three years ago when Sansa had found him. It was one of the worst and best days of his life.

* * *

The leaves on the ground of the Godswood crunched as someone approached. Jon sat up, rubbing against the hard mottled bark of the heart tree. He wiped the tears from his eyes. Clutching the letter from Howland Reed in his other hand to stop the chill wind from blowing it away, Jon shivered.

“Jon, are you there?” Sansa’s soft voice called out before she appeared at the edge of the clearing, her bright red hair almost blinding against the white of the snow that blanketed the ground and dangled from the barren tree branches. Only the heart tree had kept its leaves. “Your mother thought I might find you here.”

“Go away,” Jon sniffled when she spotted him. “It’s not like you really care.” She stopped, her baby blue winter cloak billowing around her in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What are you sorry for?” He laughed. “It’s not like you can go back in time and change who my father is.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been the nicest to you.” She walked over to drape the cloak he had left at home over his shoulders before nestling on the snow beside him. “You didn't deserve the way I treated you.” She focused on the ground in front of her, squishing the snow in front of her.

Jon felt his blood boil. She had the gall to show up now after she’d learned the truth. “Are you apologizing because my father’s the Minister of Magic?” He bit out, trying to contain his temper. Sansa whipped around, startled.

“What? No!” She exclaimed. “It was my New Year’s Resolution to be nicer… I want to be your friend,” she stumbled. “I went to your cottage to talk to you but your mom said you ran out after getting a letter about your father. I don’t have any ulterior motives, I swear. I just thought you might want to talk to someone since I know how important this is you.” Sansa bit her lip.

“Alright, I believe you,” Jon sighed.

Sansa smiled at him. He’d never been on the receiving end of one of her patented dazzling Sansa Stark smiles before. “Friends?” She asked, sticking out her hand.

He stared at her outstretched hand in disbelief. The Ice Queen herself wanted to be friends with him? “Why not?” He mused. “Friends.” He shook her gloved hand. Her smile stretches even wider; he didn’t know that was possible.

“Is Rhaegar Targaryen really your father?” she whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. We could just sit here and talk about other things.”

“Apparently,” Jon scoffed, “he is.”

Sansa placed a comforting hand over his. They sat together in silence for a moment.

“It’s just so hard— thinking you’re one thing your whole life and then finding out in one instant that everything you thought you knew about yourself is a lie.”

“That’s not true, Jon!”

“My grandfather hated muggleborns like my mother. He killed your grandfather and your uncle, Sansa, for associating with her, and he probably would have killed your father too if he’d gotten the chance. Rhaegar is only reaching out now because Aerys died in Azkaban!”

“You are not your grandfather, Jon Snow.” She pursed her lips, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You are the nicest boy I know, and your blood has nothing to do with that, so don’t go on believing knowing who your father is will change who you are.”

“I know,” Jon whispered, “but sometimes it’s hard. I don’t know who to talk to about it.”

“Well, now you can talk to me,” she said, standing and pulling him up with her, “but you should really get home now; your mom was very worried but trying to hide it. We can hang out tomorrow and you can brood all you like then.” She brushed the dirt from his cloak.

“I don’t brood,” Jon sulked. She pulled a red leaf from his curls.

“Come on then,” Sansa laughed. She walked toward the exit and gestured for him to follow. He folded the letter, sticking it in his pocket, and jogged to catch up with her. When had she gotten so tall? At thirteen she almost towered over him.

Sansa dragged him along by the gloved hand, passing the winter roses in the glass gardens without stopping and sprinting across the wide back lawn to his mother’s cottage, snow crunching under their feet. The wind blew against their faces, turning Sansa’s nose as red as her hair. She stopped at last in front of his house.

“Well, this is where I leave you.” She pulled him into a crushing hug, just like the hugs Robb gave. It must have been a Stark family trait. “I’ll drop by tomorrow, okay?” she whispered in his ear. Stepping back, she waved and yelled “Goodbye Jon,” before turning and dashing away to Winterfell. When Jon turned around to go in, the curtains on the window next to the door fell back.

“Mother, I’m home,” Jon shouted as he walked inside, tapping his boots on the door frame to shake the snow off of them.

“You have a visitor,” his mother called from the kitchen. “She’s in the living room.” Perplexed, Jon kicked his boots off and noticed a smaller set of shoes next to his mother’s. Turning the corner, he spotted Ygritte Wild, a Gryffindor from his year sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the living room chair, pretending to read this week's Quibbler, but the magazine was upside down.

“Hey, Ygritte,” he greeted her, ignoring the letter and its unwanted contents still in his pocket. “What brings you ‘round here?” He settled into the green sofa across from her.

“Robb and I are going to get some practice in later today; thought you could use some too, even if you're in a different house.” She closed her magazine to put it back on the coffee table. “Was that Sansa Stark who just walked up?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. Just unusual, I suppose. Didn't think she was your type.” Ygritte flicked a speck of dirt from her nails, trying to act nonchalant.

“Wait a minute,” Jon replied after a moment. “Did you think we were— no, Sansa’s just my friend.”

“Oh.”

“Are you jealous?”

“What! No.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “Are you coming today or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Jon snickered.

“Good,” Ygritte replied, jumping from her seat. “See you in an hour on the pitch.” She blushed and darted from the room.

* * *

 

“You keep telling yourself that’s all that is, Jon,” Ygritte snorted in the present, startling him from his reverie. She lifted her head from her hands. Tear stains drifted down from her red eyes.

“You keep getting jealous over nothing!” Jon yelled. Wiping her tears, Ygritte stood, fire in her blue-gray eyes.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Maybe because it’s not nothing!”

“Well, maybe I can’t take the all this jealousy!” He stood to be at her level.

“Fine!” she laughed. “Maybe I can’t take the constant brooding.” She lowered her voice into an imitation of his own and frowned. “ I’m Jon Snow; my dad’s the Minister of Magic: look at me, I’m the Prince of Sorrow.” Jon deflated like a balloon.

“If that’s really how you feel, maybe we should break up.”

“Maybe we should!” Ygritte stuffed all of her things back into her bag in hurry, nearly knocking Robb’s enchanted inkwell off the table. “Goodbye, Jon!” She swung the bag onto her back and stomped off, her ponytail swinging behind her like an executioner's ax. “Hello Dany,” she muttered when she stormed through the doors of the library, leaving his stunned aunt in her wake. The rest of the students returned to their studies as normal library activities resumed like the first major break-up of the year hadn’t just occurred.

“What just happened?” Dany asked as she sauntered through the library to his table.

“I’m not sure,” Jon shrugged. “I think I just broke up with Ygritte.” Dany grimaced, settling into her chair and crossing her legs in an almost regal fashion.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I know you really liked her, but to be frank, I always thought you two had such vastly temperaments that it would never work out. Don’t be sad for too long, nephew.” Jon rolled his eyes. She loved to call him that, even though he technically was older than her. “There are plenty of other red-headed fish in the sea. Speaking of redheads,” she grinned in that maniacal way of hers that reminded Jon of a dragon eyeing its prey, “I think I may have found a way for you to fix your Sansa problem. Meet me tomorrow at 4:00 at the Room of Requirement.” She stood to leave with the grace of a Queen.

“But how will I find it?” Jon asked.

“You’ll know the way when the time comes,” Dany laughed, and left him floundering without an answer.


	3. Lemoncakes, or Second Time's the Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon overhears part of an interesting conversation on his way to meet up with Dany and discovers Sansa's little side project in the room of Requirement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. It's really been like ten months since I updated this. Whoops! My bad. 
> 
> But in my defense I did move to another country and start my masters in the intervening time. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again to my wonderful beta-reader sansapotter! Follow her on tumblr and AO3. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you want to! I love getting feedback.

“I think it’s almost done.” Sansa glanced at her open potions textbook, letting her free hand drift over the final instructions while the other continued to stir the bubbling potion in the cauldron.

Dany leaped from her perch on the other side of the table where she had laid out all the materials for her upcoming paper on the history of dragon training for Magical Zoology. She sidled around the table to peer over Sansa's shoulder at the cauldron.

“What are you going to do,” Dany asked, “if you smell Jon’s conditioner again? Are you going to tell him?” Her silvery braids swung over her shoulder as she leaned in even closer to examine the potion.

"I don't even know how I could," Sansa sighed. "It's not like I can just go up to him and say, ‘Sorry I've been such a terrible friend these past few weeks, but I smelled your conditioner in the Amortentia at the beginning of the term, and I think I'm in love with you." She collapsed on her stool, still stirring the potion with due diligence. "Dany, I'm such a terrible person!" Sansa glared at the potion. "I know he loves Ygritte and here I am wondering how to tell him I love him."

Dany patted her on the shoulder. "You need to tell Jon—he deserves to know." She peeked at her watch before hurrying to the other side and shoving her papers into her bag. "Oh, would you look at that; four o'clock already? I gotta jet—let me know how it all works out, love," she winked before dashing to the door. Sansa focused on the roiling potion in front her as Dany's footsteps receded. She swirled it one final time as the colors began to shift into that familiar mother-of-pearl sheen. The metal handle on the door clinked as Dany pulled it open.

"Hello Jon," Dany said. "Fancy seeing you here." Sansa jerked up from her potion, her hair whipping so fast it almost caught on the legs of the cauldron holding it above the small flame. Jon stood in the doorway, hand poised as if to knock, with a curious expression on his face. Dany brushed past him and smirked before sauntering down the hallway. Sansa shot up from her stool, letting the spoon fall from her hand. It clattered on the stone floor as the potion stopped transforming, sending up the familiar swirls. Sansa scrambled, almost tripping over her robe to get to the other side and block the cauldron from Jon's view as he stepped into the Room of Requirement and the door swung closed behind him. Sansa flinched when it banged shut.

“Jon,” she squeaked. “How much did you hear?”

"Only that you have something to tell me." He took a few steps forward, stopping in front of her before crossing his arms. "You've been avoiding me. Why?”

Sansa shrank back against the table. Her skin flushed as she glanced away from his questioning gaze.

“I had to figure something out, ”she mumbled, sticking her hands in her pockets.

"And have you?" he asked. “Figured it out, I mean. Is that why it smells of lemon cakes in here?"

“I don’t know how to say this,” she sighed, stepping aside of the cauldron. Shifting her weight to one side, she rubbed her arm. The pattern on the stone floor suddenly seemed captivating.

“Is that Amortentia?” Jon rushed past her to get a closer look at the cauldron. “Are you trying to dose someone, Sansa?”

“No!” Sansa shook her head. “I mean, yes, that is Amortentia, but I wasn’t going to use it on anyone.”

“Then why are you brewing it in the Room of Requirement?”

The words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

“Because I’m in love with you, you idiot!” Sansa clapped a hand over her traitorous mouth. The blush spread to the tip of her ears.

Jon blinked.

“I . . . You . . . What?” He stammered.

“Professor Aemon made Amortentia for our first day of Potions this year.” Her voice wobbled. She turned away to avoid showing him the tears welling in her eyes. “I smelled your broom wax and that special conditioner I gave you. No one else wears it; I checked. That’s what I was trying to tell you in the hallway outside the locker rooms.”

“Then why are you brewing more Amortentia?”

"You were still with Ygritte; I wanted to double-check it, but I don't need to anymore." She sniffled. "I think I'm in love with you, Jon; heck, I've probably loved you for a while, but I just didn't know it. Smelling you in the Amortentia just made me realize how sweet, kind and handsome you are." She wiped away her tears. "I know you're still with Ygritte; we can go back to the way things were and forget I ever said anything if that's what you want, but I thought you should know." She rearranged her sweater before turning back around.

Jon sank onto the stool opposite the cauldron previously occupied by Dany and scratched his head.

“Jon, say something.” The tears threatened to fall again.

Jon crinkled his nose, sniffing the potion. A strange expression passed over his face.

At long last, he spoke.

“Why is your perfume so strong?”

Sansa blinked the tears away, taken aback.

“I’m not wearing my perfume today,” she frowned, taking in shimmering potion on the table. “Why does it matter—oh.” Jon flushed as red as a tomato, playing with the cuff on his white shirt.

“What about Ygritte?” Sansa broke the silence.

Jon shook his head. “We broke up yesterday.”

Sansa sat down across from him.

“I see.”

The cauldron continued to send up swirls of sparkling steam.

“What do we do now?” Jon asked as he stared deep into the potion.

"You know how I feel," she said at long last, "but if you want to just stay friends, I'll understand. Give it some time." She hopped off the bench. "I have to clean this up before Professor Aemon finds out I borrowed some of his ingredients." She screwed the lid on the rose thorn jar with a pop and doused the flame under the cauldron with a flick of her wand.

“I’ll help you.” Jon reached across the table to close the last of her jars as Sansa poured the finished potion into a vial.

“Thanks.” She corked the vial.

“What are you going to do with that?”

Sansa shrugged. "Guess I'll have to flush it. Can't get caught with contraband as a prefect." She rummaged through her bag, moving the worn textbooks to the side to make room for her cauldron and stolen supplies. She slung the bag over her shoulder.

Jon remained as inscrutable as ever, his eyes on the ground. Sansa sighed. She took a step toward the door, heart almost bursting in her chest.

"I guess I'll see you later…" Jon rubbed the back of his neck. Of course, the dolt still couldn't meet her eyes.

“When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.”

She hurried outside, resting against the shut door for a moment, chest heaving and clutching her bag to her shoulder.

With a small smile, she straightened her shiny Prefect’s badge. She glanced at the door one more time before hurrying down the hallway lighter than she had felt in weeks.


	4. Jon Snow Knows Some Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Dany meddle. Jon finally figures things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been about five months since I last updated . . . whoops. I do have a very good reason--I spent the entire summer writing a thesis. Now that that's done, I've started to get back into the swing of writing fiction. Hope you guys enjoy the last chapter of Wake Up & Smell the Amortentia; it was a lot of fun to write. As always, thanks to my wonderful beta sansapotter on Tumblr and AO3 for getting this chapter back to me so quickly. You're the best. :)
> 
> To my readers, thanks for sticking with this story through my chaotic posting schedule. Be sure to leave a comment if you have the time; I love hearing from you all.

Jon burst through the doors to the library in a rush and made a beeline to the Stark’s usual table where Sansa sat with her rambunctious siblings.

“Hello Jon,” Sansa greeted him as he dumped his books on the library table. She flashed him one of her usual brilliant smiles. At least she wasn't avoiding him anymore, but the butterflies fluttering in his stomach every time she graced him with a look were new—and they did not bode well for his concentration.

“Morning Sansa, everyone,” he responded. Jon sighed as he took out his potions notebook. He had hoped that Sansa had plans with Margaery this morning so that he could finally get this assignment done. Every time he tried to work on it Sansa distracted him with her perfect everything.

“Isn’t that due next period?” Robb asked as Jon dipped his quill in ink. Sansa stifled a giggle as she concentrated on the textbook in front of her.

"Don't remind me," Jon groaned as he hastily scribbled down the first formula. It would be a miracle if Professor Aemon could decipher this chicken scratch.

“At least you don’t have to do Arithmancy homework.” Sansa thumped her head against her work. “I keep getting 42. Am I doing this right, Bran?”

Jon tuned out of the conversation for a moment to focus on the page in front of him, until he caught a whiff of Sansa’s tantalizing lavender perfume when she turned to show Bran her workbook. As she moved, her kissed-by-fire hair cascaded over her shoulder. Jon struggled with the urge to run his hands through it. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that she scrunched her nose whenever Bran talked her through a difficult problem. Jon almost dropped his quill when she brushed her hair behind her ear as she bent over her notebook.

Arya kicked him in the shin.

"Earth to Jon," Arya whispered over the table.

“Ow.” He rubbed his leg. No doubt a bruise would appear there in the morning.

He shook his head, focusing back on the potions homework. Sansa shifted in her seat. He glared daggers at his textbook.

Sansa’s arm brushed against his as she leaned forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her stick out her tongue in concentration. The butterflies came back.

Quiet blanketed the table. Everyone else worked diligently, but Jon still fought the urge to gaze at Sansa. He had several problems left and less time to do them in.

“Finally,” Sansa groaned, dropping her quill to the table to lean back in her chair, “it’s finished.” She rubbed her temples. “Why is Arithmancy so hard?”

Jon laughed without looking up from his notebook.

“Don’t laugh at me, Mr. I-Haven’t-Finished-My-Potions-Homework.”

Jon stopped laughing.

“Anyway,” Sansa continued, brushing the hair out of her face, “I should probably get going. Marge likes to tell me all the latest gossip before class.” She slid her Arithmancy worksheet into a folder and slipped it into her bag. “Bye guys!”

"Bye," Rickon mumbled noncommittally, not bothering to look up from his work. Arya gave a half-hearted wave.

“Bye, Sansa,” Jon replied as she shouldered her bag.

“Bye, Jon.” Sansa twirled a strand of her hair. “See you later?”

“Definitely.” His gaze dropped to her perfect kissable lips. Sansa giggled before whisking out of the library, hair swishing with a spring in her step. Jon waited until she passed through the doors before turning back to the table. Robb raised a quizzical brow over the edge of his History of Magic textbook.

“You should probably finish that potions homework.”

Jon wiped the stupid grin off his face in a flash. 

* * *

 

“What are your intentions with my sister?” Robb cornered Jon in the hallway outside the Dungeon.

“What?” Jon adjusted the strap on his shoulder as he tried to shimmy past his friend.

“Sansa.” Robb stuck out his arm. Jon craned his neck to look into the classroom. Freedom was so close, yet so far away. “What are your intentions with Sansa?”

Jon gulped. “She’s my friend.”

“Don’t be so daft, Snow.” If looks could kill, Jon would be a dead man. “I’ve seen you two mooning over each other for weeks. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Well, I suppose I . . .” Jon trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. Robb gestured for him to continue. “ . . . Like her?”

“Listen to me, mate.” Robb shook his shoulders. “This is very important. Are we talking like or ‘like-like’?”

Jon sighed. “The second one?”

“Great!” Robb pulled him into a hug. Jon froze for a moment before putting his arms around his friend. “I wish you both the best of luck.” Robb pulled back from his bewildered friend and slung an arm around his shoulder. “You know, I always thought you guys would make a cute couple.” He dragged Jon along the corridor. “Although, as her older brother, I am obligated to warn you that if you hurt her in any way . . .” Robb gave his shoulder a hard tug. Jon winced.

Robb stopped in front of the Dungeon door. “Don’t take too long. Your ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dynamic is getting on Arya’s nerves.”

“She’s one to talk, Miss “Gendry’s-Not-My-Boyfriend,” Jon scoffed just as Arya’s not-boyfriend wandered into the corridor.

“Speak of the devil. Good luck with Sansa, mate.” Robb patted him on the back before intercepting Gendry with an alarming smile. “Gendry! What’s this I hear about you and Arya?” Gendry froze, a beet-red deer in the headlights. Jon backed away slowly before booking it to his Potions station.

“A classroom is no place for running, Mr. Snow,” Professor Aemon admonished Jon from the front of the room.

“Sorry, professor.” Jon collapsed on his chair, only catching his breath once he pulled out his crumpled homework and settled in for class.

* * *

 

The bell above the door to the florist shop in Hogsmeade dinged.

Jon, in the back corner examining the Yule wreaths, paid it no mind. Dozens of styles made from pine, spruce, cedar and fir branches littered the wall. Cranberries and lingonberries peeped through the needles on most of the wreaths, although mistletoe berries dotted some. Mr. Florent had even enchanted some wreaths to preserve tropical flowers. Jon sighed before reaching toward a wreath decorated with purple hibiscus.

“I’m not sure Sansa would like that one.”

Jon jumped about a foot in the air.

“By the seven, Dany,” Jon breathed, clutching his chest, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

"Sorry about that, nephew," Daenerys smirked. She pushed past him to consider the wreaths. "I suppose you being in here means that you've finally gotten off your ass and decided to ask Sansa out." Daenerys flipped through a few of the wreaths as if she hadn't just spilled a secret. "Thank goodness for that. Robb has been driving me absolutely bonkers these last few weeks complaining about the lack of progress." She pulled a cedar wreath tied with a red bow down from the rack. "Though I suppose if you two get your act together he'll just start complaining about Arya and Gendry." She made a face as she smelled the wreath before placing back on the wall. "They'll just have to be my next project."

Mouth agape, Jon stared at his aunt.

“Are you even looking?”

“I am!” Jon made a hasty turn back toward the wall of wreaths. “There’s just an overwhelming number of options.” He rubbed the back of his neck as Dany rolled her eyes.

Scanning the wreaths row by row, he started at the bottom, waiting for one to jump out at him. “By the way,” he crossed his arms, “why do all of our friends seem to be obsessed with our love lives?”

"Really, Jon? You guys have been obvious about each other forever. Remember that time you beat Ramsay Bolton," Dany shuddered, "to a bloody pulp because he harassed Sansa? Honestly, we've been shipping you two for years." She tapped her chin as she continued to peruse the wreaths. As she ducked in front of him to look at the other wall, Jon spotted a lone pine wreath surrounded by blue spruce on the third row from the top. Sansa loved the smell of pine needles; last year for Christmas he'd gifted her a pine scented candle, and she kept it in her dorm to remind her of home. Purple and grey ribbons wrapped around the needles, ending in a bow on the upper right-hand corner. A sprig of white mistletoe peeked out from under the bow. Berries dotted the rest of the wreath. Grinning, Jon poked his aunt on the shoulder.

“What about that one?” He pointed to the wreath.

“That one’s perfect,” Dany smiled. “She’ll be knocked off her feet.”

* * *

 

Jon ran a gloved hand through his hair. The wind whipped through the courtyard. He shivered and pulled his coat closed. The fresh layer of fallen snow crunched underfoot as he shifted his weight back and forth. A few snowflakes still fell, fluttering against his lashes, but most of the flurry had abated. He picked the wreath dotted with mistletoe off the stone bench for one final check. Not a single branch out of place. He pulled back the sleeve of his coat to check his watch—almost time. The ticking of the clock faded as he covered his arm back up.

At the sound of dainty steps on cobblestone, he straightened his coat and tie before hiding the wreath behind his back.

"Hello Jon," Sansa grinned as she ran into the courtyard. Her breath came out in short bursts, condensing into little clouds near the end of her pink-tipped nose. "Isn't the snow lovely?" She twirled, arms outstretched.

"Yes." Jon's heart hammered against his ribcage. Sansa caught a snowflake on the edge of her mitten.

“What did you want to talk about?” She turned to him. Jon momentarily forgot how to breathe. Her hair and eyes practically glowed against the backdrop of sparkling snow.

“I know you said we could go back to being just friends and forget the whole thing ever happened,” he fidgeted with the wreath. Jon stared at the ground. “—But I don’t think I can do that.”

He looked back up at her. Her lip wobbled as tears welled up in her eyes.

“It’s fine, Jon. I understand.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye while she turned to leave.

“Wait!” He snatched her wrist. She started, glancing between his hand on her wrist and his face. “I don’t think you do.” He let her go. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re one of my best friends, and I don’t want to lose that, but it’s not enough. Not anymore.”

She played with the end of her sleeve.

“What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is that I think I like you.”

Sansa gasped.

“Heck, I might even love you.” Jon rubbed the back of his neck. Sansa had turned as white as a sheet, although her cheeks were almost the same shade of red as her nose by now. “Sansa,” he takes her hand in his, “I want to be more than friends.” He pulled the wreath from behind his back to present it to her. “Will you go with me to the Yule Ball?” She lit up like a Christmas tree. Her lip quivered before breaking into a full grin.

“Yes, I’ll go with you!” She shot into his arms, burying her head in his neck. Her lavender perfume wafted over to him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

At last, she pulled away.

“My lady.” He bowed his head before passing the wreath to her.

"Thank you, my lord," she giggled, dipping into a mock curtsy.

Sansa’s smile was radiant; she dazzled even the sun itself. Jon brushed a stray hair from her forehead. He leaned in to whisper.

“Can I kiss you now? I’ve been desperate for weeks.”

“Yes,” she breathed. Stray snowflakes landed on her hair. Jon wanted to bottle this memory up forever. She looked at him, eyes bright, as she leaned forward and tilted her head. His lips tingled as they touched, a kind of quiet pleasure. Jon cradled her head with both hands, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

"Wow," she whispered when they separated.

“Come on.” He took her hand, leading her inside. “Let’s go back where it’s warm.”

Looping their arms together, she smiled even wider.

“We should tell everyone the good news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I FINALLY FINISHED. But since I loved writing in this universe, I decided to start working on a sequel. I can't tell you much now--especially since I have no idea when I will post it-- but I can tell you that it will focus on Gendry and Arya and that it will feature background Jonsa as well as the return of the matchmakers Robb and Dany. If you're interested, be sure to subscribe to the series so you'll be notified when I finally post the first chapter. Thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> longclawislightbringer


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